Drugged
by Imma Kiwi Bird
Summary: [R&R, please] [Set a little after the movie] “You can’t talk, boy.” Shooter said, his hand drawing across the brim of his hat. “Can’t whisper, can’t murmur, can’t scream...”


**Imma Kiwi Bird:** I was inspired to write a quick oneshot for this **_awesome_** movie Johnny Depp is in. So... uhh... here it is. x3

OH. YEAH. It's kinda bad. xD But, anyways... I hope you like it.

Note: This oneshot is SUPPOSED to be confusing. And, if I absolutely have to, it may end up with a chapter on Mort's awakening. xD I dunno, though...

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _Secret Window_.

**Key for Text:** Uhh... figure it out yourself this time. xD

* * *

**Drugged**

The crashes that came from the house fell on deaf ears. Noone could hear them; even though they echoed across the small cove. The sounds that emitted from the old, wooden cottage on the far end of the lake was owned by someone noone cared for. At least, noone they cared for until they thought he would kill them.

The house was owned by the eccentric Mort Rainey; someone who everyone believed to be a murderer. An insane murderer. And, he was both. His insanity had drove him to become a different person, and he had ended the lives of people.

So? It happens everywhere.

But not in the little town where Tashmore Lake resided.

An extremely loud crash came from the house, and noone looked up from what they were doing in their own homes across the lake. They didn't even notice the man that came running out of the house, looking like he was running away from someone.

And, he was running away from someone.

At least, he thought he was.

At least... Mort Rainey _knew_ he was.

Turning around sharply before he came withing five feet of the lake, he looked out from behind his glasses at the little boy who was following him. Glancing up, into his house, he could see the smirk plastered on Shooter's face as the boy came nearer. But, sadly, Shooter's eyes were not visible; they were covered by the shadow of the black hat he wore.

And, that was probably for the best.

Mort's head quickly lowered back down to look at the boy before him. He was grinning... as if he knew something Mort didn't. And, he hated that.

"Well, Mr Rainey. I suppose you want to know who this young boy is?" Shooter's voice echoed slightly, and Mort looked right back up.

"Course I do. The little brat is stalking me."

"Well, Mr Rainey. He's you. And he's just the little brat who's going to help you." Shooter turned, pushing away from the rim of the window he was seen through. He started stepping away, and soon, it seemed like he had materialized into thin air.

Disappeared.

Mort's gaze returned back to the little kid, and a small, quick jolt of a memory surged through him.

He was looking in a mirror... and the person gazing back was this little boy.

Mort shook his head wildly, before he stopped abruptly and tried to look at the boy; who was supposed to be him; straight. It was quite hard, too; his vision was burry. He was dizzy. Something was wrong...

"_Here's your coffee, sir." The smiling waitress handed him his mug of coffee. He nodded his thanks, and she was off. Yet he didn't catch the nervous glance she gave him before she completely whisked off; off to meet the care of the other customers._

_Mort completely ignored the slight bitter taste that filled his mouth when he took a gulp of his coffee._

_Sure; he had asked to make sure it was sweet. But, people make mistakes. Maybe they had forgot?_

His face easily showed he was angry; he had been drugged, and he didn't even know why. His eyes closed for a second, then snapped back open. He looked around; for Shooter, for that little boy. But, noone was there. He was alone.

And then, he hit the ground. And he didn't even know it.

Noone around the lake cove looked out a window; noone noticed that Mort Rainey had passed out. Noone knew he was on the verge of death. Noone would care, probably. And, most of all...

Noone heard the twisted laugh of a woman that echoed loudly across the cove. Who would? Who would care?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

When Mort woke up, he was surprised to find himself in a hospital room, in hospital attire. He looked around warily. Everything was slightly blurry... his glasses...

He noticed they were on a small stand beside the bed. He reached out for them, grabbing them, and put them on his head. His vision instantly went clearer, and he noticed he wasn't alone.

It was Shooter. And, that woman who had drugged him.

He tried yelling at her. "Why the hell did you drug me?" He tried screaming at her. But, his mouth opened, and no words came out. He raised a hand to his throat, and when the touch was felt, a shock of electricity seemed to run through his body. Mort's hand fell back onto the bed. His throat was numb. Was that even possible?

"_You can't talk, boy._" Shooter said, his hand drawing across the brim of his hat. "_Can't whisper, can't murmur, can't **scream**..._" Mort's eyes widened slightly as he looked from Shooter to the woman. She was smiling at him, as if she had done nothing to him.

And then, she vanished.

Shooter got up, nodding at Mort. "_Good day, Mr Rainey._" He headed towards the door, opening it, then left. The door closed behind him, clicking as it was shut.

Mort raised a hand back to his neck, and he felt nothing but the simple touch of his hand. To test it, he spoke. "Shooter?" Nothing. No pain. Nothing.

He pulled himself out of bed, standing still in the room for a moment. He glanced around the room that was empty; save for him. Was this woman someone he had thought up like Shooter? Or, was she someone who...

Mort headed straight for the door. Opened it, closed it. He looked up and down the halls for someone who could tell he what the hell had happened to him.

"Here's your coffee, sir."

Everything went black.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Have you heard?"

"About what?"

"That Mort Rainey was put into a coma."

"_Oh_... yes; I have. They say they haven't caught the person who did it yet."

"I know..."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Yes. Three months ago, Mort Rainey; eccentric author of Tashmore Lake; was thrown into a coma. Noone knows how; it happened in the hospital, in an empty corridor. They found out why, though.

He had been drugged.

By who was a mystery.


End file.
